She sat half-reclined on the pedestal, the abundance of her flesh celebrated in stone. Her thighs curved seductively wide and her breasts rested lightly on her rounded belly. The pale stone clung to the last of the sun's warmth, before the earth turned toward the night.

He lay on the ground with his arms behind his head and looked up into the darkening sky. Beside him a satchel sat half open and the breeze rustled through the contents, lifting the paper corners of a sketch book. On the top sheet a rough shape of a woman had been smudged into the page with graphite and charcoal.

She had been witness to thousand of sunsets since the night the craftsman chiseled her from the rock. The sound of the stone-tipped tool still echoed around her, tick-tocking as the days and nights passed. People moved in blurs before her, flitting backwards and forwards like flies.

He had rested long enough and was anxious to get back to work. He blinked the heaviness from his eyelids and stood, slinging the satchel over his shoulder. It was only a short distance back to the ruins and once there he propped himself against the remains of a wall facing a small stone figure. Taking the sketch book from his bag he flipped to a clean page before settling down to work.